0700 hours at the Ark
by MariaShadow
Summary: G1 Prowl has an...interesting day
1. Chapter 1

0700 hours at the Ark, and Prowl was walking towards the Common room, a mug of energon in one hand and the day's schedule in the other. However, he stopped short at the doors and froze in open-mouthed astonishment. There in the center of the room, were Jazz and the twins doing the Cancan and cajoling other Autobots into joining them. The 2IC let out a world-weary groan, doorwings wilting. "It's too early for this." He muttered, executing a perfect paradeground about-face and retreating with some haste.

_Rule One of surviving the Ark- If in doubt, don't ask_.

0105 hours found Prowl lying on his back under a computer terminal, attempting to figure out why it wasn't functioning properly. As he worked, he couldn't shake the strange feeling that he was being watched. Nevertheless, he continued his task. Reaching up, he unscrewed another access panel and released a shower of rubber spiders.

"Gyaa!" Prowl yelped, batted at the spiders, automatically bolted upright…and smacked his head into the underside of the terminal. Through the haze of disorientation, Prowl distinctly heard a muffled laugh and the sound of someone beating a hasty retreat.

There were only three people who knew of his distaste for arachnids. One was currently in Michigan, it wasn't in character for the other, and the third was going to have sanitary duty in morning.

_Rule Two of surviving the Ark- If you think you are being watched, you probably are. _

When he got a break at 1230 hours, Prowl made a beeline for the safety of his quarters. However, his trip was interrupted by a flying red projectile better known as Sideswipe as he was violently ejected from the repair bay, Ratchet's curses echoing after him. The red warrior picked himself up, quite unconcerned by the fact that he appeared to be foaming at the mouth, grinned at Prowl, and jogged down the hallway.

Ratchet emerged from his territory a moment later and canted a glance in the stunned 2IC's direction. "What's your problem?" The irritated CMO asked.  
"Sideswipe was foaming at the mouth. Is that possible?"  
The medic made a vague gesture with one hand. "He ate a box of soap flakes."  
Prowl blinked. "…soap flakes?"  
"He was bored." Ratchet shrugged.

_Rule Three of surviving the Ark- If it involves a bored twin, don't ask_.

It was a very wary Prowl that reclaimed his workstation at 1800 hours.

He had just finished typing up a report when Jazz sauntered in and leaned against the wall beside him. "So, whadda ya think?" The Porsche asked, grinning. Prowl did an abrupt double take as exactly what Jazz was talking about registered. Somehow, the Special Ops officer had gotten his hands on what Prowl recognised as an Autobot-sized baseball cap.

"…a hat?" Prowl finally asked.  
"Yup. Cool, eh?" Jazz beamed, adjusting the brim slightly.  
"Yes…cool." The Datsun replied carefully, turning back to his work. He was not going to even think about the logic of it. Sideswipe was bad enough.

_Rule Four of surviving the Ark- If asked an opinion, at best be positive, at worst, be ambiguous_.

At the end of the day at 2100 hours, it was a rather concerned Optimus who finally found Prowl slumped at his desk, head buried in his arms. "Prowl? The CIC asked. "Are you alright?"  
The Datsun raised his head just enough to confirm who it was. "It's a plot." He mumbled. "They're planning to drive me insane."

Prime nodded sagely. Reports had filtered through about the day's antics, and quite frankly the Prime had nothing but pity for his somewhat frazzled tactician. Stir crazy warriors were every commander's worst nightmare, and that all resulting 'events' had somehow gravitated towards Prowl had not helped the 2IC's mental state in the slightest. _"Something tells me the next few days are going to be very interesting."_ The Prime mused.

_Rule Five of surviving the Ark- If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. _

Fin


	2. Chapter 2

Ratchet's Version

0705 hours, and Ratchet was moving more or less in the direction of the Common Room. It had been a very long night last night and suffice it to say, he really wasn't feeling awake just yet. He sort of registered passing Prowl, the 2IC mumbling something about getting the latest batch of energon checked for contaminants. Upon entering the Common Room, he didn't even blink at the sight of the still dancing warriors, having optics only for the row of energon dispensers at the back of the room.

Someone spotted him entering and immediately raised the alarm. "Medic alert!"

Instantly, Autobots sprang into action, moving tables, chairs, and other 'bots to clear a path for the shuffling medic. Nobody wanting a repeat of the last time something was in his way. It was hard enough to get furniture as it was.

_Rule Six of surviving the Ark- Never get between a medic and his morning fix_

It was 1045 by the time Ratchet had gotten the Repair Bay cleared of its backlog of patients, the last being a fairly embarrassed Prowl with fairly impressive dent in his helmet that he had refused to elaborate on. After releasing the officer, Ratchet hunted through his desk for his requisition list and left the 'Bay to find Ironhide and hand it over.

As soon as he entered the control room somebody started playing 'The Imperial Death March' over the general radio frequency. Every Autobot within transmission range started sniggering, but most were wise enough to conceal it somehow as the very un-impressed CMO stalked across the room in search of the culprit. Hound gulped as Ratchet stopped and glared at him.

He leaned in close. "You looking to take a short walk off a tall cliff, nature boy?" Ratchet asked dangerously. Hound shook his head vigorously. "No Ratchet." He replied obediently. The music immediately cut out.  
"Good." Ratchet turned on his heel and walked out the door.

_Rules Seven and Eight of surviving the Ark- The higher the rank, the more omniscient the officer, and never, ever mess with a grouchy, omniscient officer _

At 1225, Ratchet had finished his errand and returned to the sanctuary of his office to finish up the last of the paperwork he had left over. There was a knock outside. "Come in." Ratchet called, not bothering to look up from his paperwork. Sideswipe stepped in "Hey Ratchet, could you help me with something?" He asked. Ratchet grunted and glanced at the mech, only to do an abrupt double take as he realized that the red mech was somehow foaming at the mouth.

"What in the fragging heck…?" Ratchet blurted, half rising from his seat. "How did you…never mind, have you nicked your washer fluid line again? What does your internal diagnostic say?"  
"It, ah, doesn't." The sheepish Lamborghini answered. "I was bored so I, um, ateaboxofsoapflakes." He said quickly, cringing in anticipation of the forthcoming tirade.

Ratchet blinked. "You ate a box of soap flakes." He slowly repeated. "Just the soap, or the box as well?"  
"Just the soap." Sideswipe quickly reassured him, wiping away some of the suds. "It's just, ahh, it won't stop foaming and I was thinking you could maybe do something about it?" He asked hopefully.  
Ratchet's expression darkened. "Do you have any idea how stupid that was?" He roared.  
"…no." Sideswipe squeaked.  
"You will now."

_Rule Nine of surviving the Ark- Doing something stupid then turning up at Ratchet's doorstep is liable to get you mauled. _


End file.
